rtouki had told them. Clearly,
something was pretty strange about the whole affair. It was simply
inconceivable that Bartouki would have given an inaccurate description
of Ali Moustafa, so the man in the store had not been Bartouki's
partner. Yet, he had known about the cat, and had called Rick by name.
Who was he? And where was the real Ali Moustafa? There were no answers,
at least for the present. But Rick didn't intend to give up.

He motioned to Hassan's coat. "Is it cold out today?"

"Yes. Good you wear coats when we go out. Later it will be warm, then
cool again when sun goes."

The boys had decided to keep Hassan as a guide and driver during their
entire stay. The dragoman's services were not expensive, and besides,
both of them felt they had found a friend. The way Hassan had pitched in
at the bazaar, with no questions asked and their interests obviously at
heart, had been a fine example of professional loyalty coupled with a
quick mind and fast reflexes.

After breakfast the boys went to the wardrobe and took out the coats
they had brought. Rick's was brand new, a Christmas present from his
father. It was a short, hip-length woolen coat that could double as a
hunting jacket. In addition to the big outer pockets, it had inner game
pockets lined with a leatherlike plastic. It was warm, but light. He was
thoroughly pleased with it.

Scotty slipped into his own short coat, much like Rick's except for the
game pockets. Then the ex-Marine motioned to the Egyptian cat, unwrapped
and sitting in elegant repose on the writing desk. "What about Felix?"
he asked.

Rick went over and picked up the cat. "We'd better take it along, I
guess. It might get lonesome. Or we might run over Ali Moustafa on the
way to the project." He slid the cat into an inner pocket. It fit with
room to spare.

Scotty asked Hassan, with mock seriousness, "You know Sahara Wells?"

Hassan answered with equal seriousness. "Know Sahara Wells well."

The ride was an interesting one, up the Nile to a bridge different from
the one they had crossed en route from the airport, along roads with a
palm-shaded center strip, past mosques, stores, and airy, modern
apartment houses. There was less traffic than in downtown Cairo, and
Hassan went faster.

Scotty muttered, "Fewer close calls today."

Rick winced as the car almost scraped a woman with a basket of fruit
balanced on her head. "Fewer, but closer."

The costumes on the street were mixed. Th